I specialize mostly in evergreens. One of my proudest accomplishments is the pine tree on the side of my garage. There used to be, in almost the same spot, another kind of tree (I was too young at the time to know its species) which was situated next to my old above ground pool. This pool has long since been removed, but back in those days I hated the old broad leaf that stood there. Without fail, it would posit it's leaves and bulbs into pool water every day I wanted to take a dip. Having not yet outgrown my OCD I had to diligently sift out every scrap of detritus from the water's surface before diving in. This was tedious work, and the tension between the tree and I would build season after season.
Until that faithful day when I was 13 years old and I dealt the bastard tree a fatal blow to its trunk with my fathers hatchet. It started as a single strike, but the sight of the tree sap seeping out of the wound sent me into a terrible rage the likes of which mankind has never witnessed (except my brother, he was standing there too). I must have hit the tree five or six times, which was in no way close to chopping it down, but had had the unanticipated effect of killing it for on the following year it did not bloom. That's when my father cut it down and ordered me to plant another, less irritating, tree in roughly the same place to...oh I don't know...restore order to the universe. From Home Depot they brought me a pine of modest size, six feet high at the time, and I took great pains to ensure that it was planted correctly.
Now, almost 10 years later, my pine tree stands at roughly 50 feet! I have watched it grow, of course, from my upstairs bathroom window. We have had many chances to bond over the years. I fondly reflect on the way that it's prickly branches would recoil into my face as I tried to navigate my way around them in my father's riding lawnmower. It also provides me with great cover so that my next door neighbors can't see me smoke weed behind my garage, or at least I think it does, but I'm probably wrong.
Even this Buddhist shrine is dwarfed by the size of my pine.
Well you all know where the story goes from here. They get big, you don't see them anymore, and before you know it they've mated with other pine trees and you have to replace the blade on dad's lawnmower because of all the pine-cones you mistakenly ran over. My parents had my upstairs bathroom renovated and the window was covered with ceramic tile. I had always wondered if they removed the actual window from the other side, or if it's still there to signify the parsimonious folkways of our faith (a Menorah in the window, if you will). Then the other day I ventured to the side of the house that the pine tree obscures only to discover that it was in fact still there.
Don't come a knockin' when you see smoke come out of that little square vent!
What can we learn from all this? Perhaps that George Washington had OCD or that society in the mid 18th century would not condone swimming in a pool of cherries and bird droppings. Especially not in an above ground pool for I am certain that they have never been in vogue.
Look for more stories about my childhood on NotCarbonated in the near future, or at least while I'm reading Proust!
1 comment:
Brilliant post btw
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